The Highwayman
by IMBSA
Summary: A highwayman came riding, riding, riding, up to the old inn door.... AU IchigoRukia
1. Chapter 1: Night Visitor

The Highwayman

Chapter One: Night Visitor

By: IMBSA

IMBSA: Going back and listening to old CDs of mine has been a rather inspiring experience. And since my Bleach!Muse has tied up the other Muses and threatened to kill them if I don't write this, I suppose I have to. :sigh: This is a fic inspired by the poem/song "The Highwayman," poem by Alfred Noyes, set to music by Loreena McKennitt. Look 'em up. Now you literary purists who know the poem already might whine about the cutting/adding of scenes, but hey, I claim artistic license. Or something. So blah to you.

Disclaimer: "Take me with you/On this journey/Where the boundaries of time are now tossed/In cathedrals of the forest/In the words of the tongues now lost"

IMBSA: Alrighty, this fic is AU. Completely. I kept the names so you're not confused who's who, forgetting for an instant that the setting is 1700s America (or thereabouts). Those of frail heart and mind, y'all might wan to leave. This is filed under "Angst" for a reason. You literary purists know what I'm talkin' 'bout. Just as a fair warning (again). Also, I don't care about the historical accuracy (or lack thereof) in this. It's meant for entertainment. So please don't review trying to correct me. No flames either; they'll be given to Karin and Jinta to play some painful ball games with. Sorry if I get anyone out of character; I try my best, and my knowledge is from the 27 eps I've watched and second hand spoilers from AMVs and my friends. Enjoy.

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"Dammit!"

The curse was the only human sound on the windswept moor as a single rider attempted to guide his black horse using only his knees and hang onto both hat and reigns with his two hands. He was unlucky on both counts. Every time he got the reigns in a manageable position, the wind's seeking fingers made their way under his tri-corn hat and tried to yank it from his head, sending his upper body jerkily after the cloth sailing away from him.

His horse, however, was patient, waiting as his impetuous rider stopped to right himself. After one such pause, the man patted his steed's neck, sheepishly saying, "Sorry 'bout this, Zangetsu. Midnight's not too good a time to be about ridin', is it?" He looked up at the full moon, brown eyes glittering in its light when it wasn't blocked by the storm gathering clouds. He sat at the crest of the hill, gazing down at a modest, but comfortable-looking inn nestled in the slight valley. A small smirk tugged at his lips and he tilted back his hat to face into the breeze that threatened to become a gust.

He was dressed as a casual young man of the age, dark velvet coat binding a cream cloth shirt (which, to his distaste, had a rather lot of lace at the neck), and expensive brown breeches some noble's brat was missing. His black boots shone up to his knee, also property of the first son of some prominent family he'd heard of, but could never remember. He looked for all the world like a young lad off for a bit of hunting.

Albeit, in the dead of night, and alone.

Zangetsu snorted, as if to say, "Could we get a move on?"

The man laughed at his horse's impatience. "I'm goin', I'm goin'." He nudged the horse into a walk and muttered, "The night is still young, you know." He had barely spoken when the wind blew again, causing him to hiss and grab at his hat yet another time, the stretch lifting his coat high enough to reveal his two pistols, holstered at his hips and the dark metal of the rapier sheathed safely at his left side.

Seeing that he was only a few yards from the inn, which was covered from stable to house, he kicked Zangetsu into a faster pace, riding at the new speed until they were under the relative shelter of the awning. Sighing in satisfaction, he slid the hat from his head and into his lap, revealing a shock of bright orange hair, reasoning that recognition would have a small chance of happening. Who else but an idiot would be out on such a cold, inhospitable night?

Thinking that he might get lucky and that someone might be downstairs, he rapped lightly on the shuttered window. But there was no answering light from inside. Cursing how cold the night was, he nudged Zangetsu forward, to go around to the back of the house, keeping as close to the walls as he dared while in the saddle.

There was one lit window on the second story, as he knew there would be. It was opened only a little and allowed for the tiniest amount of air. It was enough for him. Glancing furtively around first, he looked up at the glass and whistled quietly. He frowned when there was no response. "Hey!" he whisper-yelled as loud as he thought he could get away with. "Rukia!"

He was rewarded when a silhouette came to the window, pushing both curtain and window aside, beautiful pale face pinched with the smallest hint of annoyance, eyes so purple that they were almost black searching for the cause of the call. When the girl—young woman, really—saw the figure below, the displeased expression faltered, and her eyes grew brighter. "Ichigo…." She answered her name with his, smirk replacing irritation as they entered the verbal games they always found themselves playing. "Come to see if I was getting cold feet?"

"Of course not," he replied, smirk of his own tugging at his lips. "I stalk you enough to know if you are."

Rukia leaned against the sill, letting Ichigo see that she was dressed in a white nightgown and had been in the midst of plaiting her dark hair. "True enough," she conceded. "But if I were _very_ clever, you'd never know if I had a change of mind."

"Well, I'll just be thankful that you're not '_very_ clever.'" Rukia raised her eyebrows at his comment.

"And whose idea was it to _elope_?"

"Yours, which proves my point!"

"As opposed to _your_ genius, which proposed you asking Byakuya for my hand outright!"

"But I don't just want your _hand_," Ichigo responded slyly.

Rukia turned a hint of pink, sighing at her defeat. "At least tell me you haven't forgotten the plan?"

He snorted. "'Course not. I ain't _stupid_." At Rukia's coolly disbelieving gaze, he sighed and raised his hands, ticking off points as he said them. "I get us some money. Come back here. Don't get caught. Ride off with you into the sunset." He paused. "Anything I'm missing?"

"How about the part that troops might be waiting for you and give chase?" She pointed out, incredulous that he had forgotten. "I'm not getting this inn burned down for _you_."

"Oh yeah…." He shrugged. "I shake 'em off. Come back here. Ride off with you into the moonlight." He grinned up at her. "That better?"

Rukia half-smiled down at him, shaking her head. "You're such an idiot." She murmured, but in a way that took all bite from the words.

"You're the one running off with me, leaving the only respectable family you have." His face turned serious as he tried to gauge her reaction. "We'll be all alone."

Rukia gazed at her nails, as if unconcerned by the weighty prospect. "I'll have you." She whispered.

Ichigo swallowed and nodded. "For what it's worth."

Rukia contemplated this, and nodded too. "Hopefully you're an idiot who keeps his promises." She answered, expression trying to end the heavy moment.

"I swear I'll come, though Hell itself stood in my way," Ichigo answered, smile on his face and sincerity ringing in every word.

Knowing how true that claim was, Rukia smiled. "Don't say that." She responded, coy expression on her face. "My brother's Hell enough himself." She jerked her head at the window next to hers. Ichigo shuddered, having been on the receiving end of Byakuya's wrath once. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

"Which is why we're hauling ass to get out." He muttered.

"I thought that was for the troops." Rukia reminded him sweetly.

"Aw, quit skewing my logic." He shivered, suddenly remembering how cold it was. "'S freezing out here, and I'll need to be going soon." He gazed longingly at her room, where, no doubt, there was surely a fire and the company of a warm body inside.

Reading his glance correctly, Rukia went pink again. "This time tomorrow." She promised.

He sighed, defeated. "Just one kiss?" He begged. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded, leaning as far as she could out of the window without being in danger of falling. He, for his part, stood in the stirrups, but despite his height and that of the horse, couldn't put his lips to hers. He reached out and stretched, even extending his arm, but could only brush his fingertips lightly against her cheek. He glared at the house. "Dammit." He cursed.

Rukia watched with amusement as he struggled. "Who's short now?" She jibed. Finally, though, she laughed and said, "Here." Ichigo looked up to see what she was about to do. She reached up and combed her hands through her half-braided hair and threw the long cascade over the sill. "It's the best you're gonna get," she teased.

The light breeze caught the strands and the raven locks danced on the wind. Ichigo stood again and kissed the hair that played across his face, breathing in the sweet scent that graced it. After a few moments, Rukia pulled her windswept hair back up, murmuring a quick goodbye and tossing him a kiss.

He kissed the air back and watched as she leaned back into her room, shutting the window to the night. Smiling, he tugged at Zangetsu's reigns and they sped off, back across the moor and its lone road.

Rukia stood at the window, purple eyes almost black tracking their movements until they were put of sight.

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IMBSA: Due to my longwinded-ness, I'm stretching this out into chapters. Apologies for general suckage because I just suck at life. Please R &R. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. And those of you waiting for another chapter of my other fics….I'm sorry. For all intents and purposes, I'm still dead. And my parents still have my stuff for those fics, so I can't write for any of them. Sorry. Oh, by the by, in case you don't know, a "highwayman" is a robber who specializes attacking people on the roads. It was a while before I realized this. Hopefully I made it clear.

Please don't hurt me!


	2. Chapter 2: Dragging On

The Highwayman

Chapter Two: Dragging On

IMBSA: Allrighty guys, this is where things go kinda wonky. I've decided, that in order to have a quality fic for you, I need to add some things to the existing story line. Or, at least, move things around a bit. If you guys wanted me to adhere strictly to the poem…well…I'm not that much of a people pleaser. And I'm reasonably certain that the way I've handled this is much better than just taking what's in the poem and spitting it out on the paper. Cameos abound in this chapter. (Thank you Bleach for such fun villains!) Thanks for the support so far!

Disclaimer: "I knew the tempest's blood; its wrath I would endure."

IMBSA: And please, for the love of mercy, stop asking me how this will end. As an intelligent band once stated, "The journey is more important than the end or the start." I would not call this "The Highwayman" if it weren't appropriately related.

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Rukia stared at the pine of the bar, alternately nervous and bored by the slow ebbing of the day. Ichigo hadn't come, by dawn, or by noon (not that she had expected him to) and Rukia was stuck behind the counter, troubled only when the few patrons of the bar area needed more drinks. The anxiety wasn't because she feared that Ichigo wouldn't make good on his promise. No, he was trustworthy, and in all the years she had known him, he had never broken his word.

But those soldiers that chased him….They were pushy and sadistic, the lost of them. Like dogs, almost, following every liberty-stifling order the king gave them. She'd heard her brother rail against them enough times to know. And with the "Quartering Orders" the king had seen fit to grace them with, the Kuchiki Inn had played host to weary troops many more times than either sibling was comfortable with.

And Ichigo was getting quite a name for himself, as he was the only robber of the roads with a shock of orange hair crowning his head. If the Redcoats caught him—

Rukia shook herself. No sense in giving into sorrow that might not even have a justifiable source. All she had to do was play the day off, serve the few patrons that entered, and not let slip that she was waiting anxiously for night to fall and her fugitive love to whisk her away into the blissful anonymity of darkness.

"So how's Little Miss Lovelorn doing this fine day?" A voice broke into Rukia's thoughts. The petite girl jumped, swinging to face the taller frame of Renji, the stable boy and general help around the Inn. His father had been an indentured servant to Rukia and Byakuya's father. The elder Abarai had decided to stay on working for Kuchiki, even when his years of service had finished. The three children had grown up on the grounds of the Inn. When Byakuya had graduated to helping Father out with the business, Renji had taken over being Rukia's big brother, helping her weather her parents' deaths, as she and her brother helped him when his father died. She confided _every_thing to him, including the plan to elope. Rukia still couldn't decide if it was a good idea or not.

She sighed at his disgustingly girlish—if true—name calling. "I am _not_ lovelorn." She answered grumpily, staring out the window to avoid his gaze. "I am _not_ pining after him like a lost puppy." She knew he had his doubts about "this Kurosaki" fellow, but he had agreed to help conceal her disappearance for as long as he could. Knowing he harbored an affection for her that was decidedly unbrotherly made things awkward when she spoke so easily of leaving the Inn, but he seemed happy at the thought of _her_ being happy, which, though making her insides squirm with guilt, appeared to fuel Renji in a way that helped the star-struck pair.

"Oh please, even that blind slave who asked for a room could see it!" He laughed. "You're moping like a prissy little brat! The Rukia _I_ know is no prissy little brat." He paused. "Most of the time," he amended.

Rukia clicked her tongue and tossed a cloth at his face, which he was able to catch easily, while snapping, "Don't you have some horses to look after, or manure to shovel or something?"

"You insult me, little Rukia. I don't shovel manure." He stood straight and sniffed, mock poshly. "I am a respectable _shit_ shoveler. Get it straight."

Appalled at the use of such language in the presence of their Inn's occupants, Rukia almost lobbed a glass in his direction. "Just the sort of sentiment I'd expect from a _stable boy_," she sniffed, as haughtily as she could manage.

"Hey now, _pine_ tree. Don't get high and mighty on _me_, _Miss_ Kuchiki," Renji answered, genuine hurt in his words, as though he couldn't understand the vehemence behind her attack. Their respective places in the world around them had never been an issue, and it was so unlike Rukia to bring up their gap in status for such a low blow.

Rukia sighed again and laid her head on the recessed counter slightly below the bar. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm just on edge today."

"I can see that." Renji replied.

Rukia went on, murmuring, "I want it to be _night_ already, Renji! I'm going crazy, not knowing what's happened, if he's ok or not!" She paused. "It wasn't personal."

Renji shrugged it off. "I know." He paused too. "Rukia, until night time, you're not _gonna_ know!" He looked miserable at her pain and his inability to do anything. "So why not while away the hours by thinking of _pleasant_ things?" Like soft, imported cloth…and _tea_!"

Rukia snorted. "No tea in _this_ house, Renji. You know how my brother—"

"Bah, Byakuya'll be none the wiser if you just _think_ about it!"

"I don't even _like_ tea. Agh, why did he even leave you here? With me?"

"Hey, you need me." He pointed a partially accusatory finger at her. "And not just for the heavy lifting, either."

Rukia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. If Byakuya were here, it'd fall through, all that fun stuff. I owe you one, blah blah blah."

"No, you don't," He corrected. Rukia turned one questioning eye to him. "You owe me _big time_." Rukia scoffed and turned back. "Hey, I don't ask for much," he protested. "Just to see you guys now and again. Play with the kids. Uncle stuff."

Rukia stared dejectedly at the wood. "Renji, I think we both know that I won't have a place here once I leave." Rukia pointed out sadly.

"I know, but—"

"Renji…."

Renji sighed loudly. "I know, I know." He stopped trying to persuade her. Even if Ichigo had had a respectable occupation, Byakuya would exhibit no kindness towards the man who seduced his innocent, naïve sister into eloping. (And any man would _seduce_ Rukia in his mind; his little sibling could do no wrong.) He would also not let seduction be an excuse for Rukia herself. There was an awkward pause as a gloomy mood settled over the two, broken only by the murmuring of a few of the patrons. Renji started again, in a falsely cheerful voice, "Hey, do you think the kids'll have dark hair, like you, or orange, like him?"

Rukia shot up, staring at him through eyes made wide by horror. "Renji!" She whispered.

The red-haired man's response was choked by the slamming of a door, which neither one noticed, caught up as they were in the panic of the innkeeper's sister. The two were frozen, staring at each other as Renji scrambled mentally to uncover his mistake. His eyes too widened as he realized what he'd said. "Oh Rukia—" he began.

Rukia turned, refusing to look at him. "Go back to the stable, Renji." Her voice trembled. "_Now_."

Reluctantly, Renji obeyed, eyes darting around for anyone who seemed to be paying a suspicious amount of attention to their conversation, a belated, non-verbal apology for his misstep.

But somehow, deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew that the damage had already been done.

Just how much damage was evident as the sun started sinking slowly toward the horizon.

The rest of the day had passed slowly for Rukia, more so than the morning had. Her body was wracked with fear and worry, nerves jangling on a razor's edge as she waited for the repercussions she was just _sure_ were to come.

She looked up sharply at the sound of hoof-beats on the cobble of the yard, almost dreading the moment of truth she perceived had come. Her heart sunk to the bottom of her rib cage as she realized that there were _multiple_ horses riding in, not the lone one she had been hoping for.

She caught a flash of red through the window and began trembling, heart sinking even lower, so far down that she feared she would never retrieve it again.

Red coats. Red coats had found her.

Rukia shut her eyes and willed her body to stop shaking, refusing to look as the door creaked open to admit the soldiers (four men, by the sound of it; '_the rest of them must be waylaying Renji_,' she deduced with a cold shiver). There came the sound of scraping chairs as the other occupants of the room stood at their sudden and unwelcome presence.

"Don't worry," a smooth, sly voice assured them in a way that nonetheless sounded threatening. "We're not here for _you_." It dripped reptilian calm, and Rukia fought a shiver from her spine, still staring woodenly down at her clenched hands. Footsteps rang out as the others raced away, nameless faces she had served fleeing the scene of what they assumed would be violence.

They left Rukia alone with the damn Tories.

A slow, steady pace of boots clomped across the floor to stand before her. "We send a spy for a Son, and what do we get back but the key to catching the infamous Fire-Crowned Robber." A different voice, calm and collected, was speaking. It could have been pleasant, but the words it birthed sent chills down Rukia's spine "Perhaps not the best trade in England, but as we're in the colonies, I suppose we'll have to settle. Isn't that right, Miss Kuchiki?"

Finally, Rukia brought her chin up to let her purple eyes meet the brown gaze of the troop commander. He had wavy brown hair caught back at the nape of his neck and black-rimmed spectacles sat on his nose. His expression was of an impassive yet curious researcher studying a particularly difficult to translate tome.

"Would you like refreshments?" Rukia began, voice steady as she fought not to scream hysterically, for that would be surrender. "All we have is ale, my apologies. It seems we misplaced all our tea in the harbor a few months back." The undercurrent of bitter sarcasm made the implications of her words clear.

The commander laughed. _That_ scared Rukia. "An audacious girl, fit for the reckless highwayman." He remarked, amused. "Tell me, Miss Kuchiki, what use will a dead coward be for you?"

Rukia gasped, knowing she was damning herself with her words. "You haven't—"

"No," he reassured her, half-turning before pausing to look at her sideways. "But we will. And as a reward for your wit and admirable—albeit misplaced—loyalty, you will get a front row seat."

"If you please, Miss Kuchiki," the snake-like voice came from the white-haired (and somehow young looking) second-in-command who stood by the exit of the bar, gesturing for her to lead the way. Her eyes followed the direction of his hand and she froze when she saw that they expected her to lead them upstairs. She stared at him, hoping her fright wasn't visible to the soldiers. "Of course, if you wish to be difficult, I can…_convince_ you to go up." His voice was harder now, a sharp edge it had lacked even mere moments before. "It _would_ be in your best interests to ascend of your own accord, however."

The way he said it left no doubt in her mind that he was serious. Hesitantly…reluctantly…and though her heart was close to pounding its way out of her body, Rukia lifted her skirts slightly, so as not to stumble and took the smallest steps she could toward the stairs. With every pace she took, a little more of her self tore away. She wanted nothing more than to run, flee to the safe circle of Ichigo's arms.

But the only choice she had was to put one foot in front of the other, climbing to a fate that, though unknown, she dreaded with every fiber of her being.

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IMBSA: Once again, I do not give a flying flip about historical (in)accuracies in this fic. Please, don't review and tell me anything like, "Aizen's not a _troop_ commander!" or "the Boston Tea Party wasn't so famous" or anything like that. They will be made into a yarn ball for Yoruichi's feline pleasure. I plan on updating every two weeks or thereabouts. Can't promise anything, what with APs coming up and stuff. Thanks for the reviews I have been getting. And since I'm a bit of a rebel myself, here are my responses to my reviewers. Anarchy, baby.

**jackass.kit.: **I believe I sent you a message about this. I can't tell you how it ends. I mean, I don't want to "strictly adhere" to the poem, but…the sacrifice is the whole point of the story!

**Lord Divestre Croft: ** :points at genre change: That answer it?

**Aneira44: **Thank you! I was raised on this CD, and this song is so very, very influential for me.

**chinkyeye: **Oh, don't worry, I have no plans of abandoning this fic. I actually know where I'm going with this one:shock and awe:

**ayame213: **As I said in the first chapter, I was just listening to the song, and my Bleach!Muse struck me, and I went "OMG, IchiRuki!" Unfortunately, while I was unconscious, my Bleach!Muse went to kidnap my other muses, so I don't know if that's a good thing….Thanks for the enthusiasm!

**XX: **Thanks for reviewing! And I wouldn't claim any connection to the poem if it didn't.

Thank you all for the reviews! On a completely unrelated and disturbing note, it's simply criminal how much I enjoy writing Gin and Aizen.


	3. Chapter 3: Dreading All We Have to Do

The Highwayman

Chapter Three: Dreading All We Have to Do

By: IMBSA

IMBSA: Ok guys, I realize that the poem says "she twisted her hands _behind_ her," but I really couldn't figure out the physics of this without putting Rukia the way I did. So very, very sorry if this isn't up to your standards. I also don't know how the entire situation would work, but I tried my best. And yes, I know Gin is not Aizen's lieutenant in the series. Look me in the eye and see if I care.

Disclaimer: ""

IMBSA: Thank you all for your continued support. I appreciate all the warm and generous reviews! And once again…being the bad guy is _sooo_ much fun.

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The brown haired captain sighed as he stood by the window his second-in-command had opened. "It's going to be a beautiful night," he remarked conversationally to the girl slumped forward against the bedpost. She was silent, staring at the pine floor in order to avoid looking out the open window and seeing the road before the Inn glowing in the setting sun.

After leading them upstairs, she had been pushed into her bedroom and bound, kneeling on the bed, with ropes the pale haired man had produced. Inwardly, she feared—not just for herself, but for her beloved as well—yet she refused to show it. The only hint of terror was the trembling in her hands tied in front of her. She had long since gripped the pole to stop them, knuckles turning white from the effort.

"This will not do," the captain tutted, causing Rukia to look up at him through her bangs in order to see what he complained about. He was staring at her, lips pursed ever-so-slightly. "If we are to put on a show for you, it would be very discourteous if you were to ignore it." He shot a commanding glance at his lieutenant and said, "Gin, I leave that to you."

Gin bowed, smiling in a way that made Rukia's skin crawl. She couldn't stop the shiver that ran down her spine as he turned that gaze to her. She filled the time it took for the sound of his steps to clunk to her with praying. The sickening feeling of death had settled over the house. In one way or another, she knew someone would die, and chances were good that her heart would die with them.

Then Gin was next to her, musket in his hands. "He's right you know. It's very rude of you to turn away." With a hand that bit into her shoulder so hard that it made her gasp, he yanked her upright painfully, lifting her so high that she swore her knees came up off of the bed. Rukia squirmed in his grip, not liking his touch at all. She froze at the feeling of a musket barrel pressing against the underside of her breast, where her heart hammered away, separated by cotton, skin and bone. Rukia felt Gin's lips against her ear as he whispered, "Just so you'll be paying attention." He was none too gentle as he secured her with more loops of rope, additionally tying her thin shoulders to the pole and twisting her head so that she had no choice but to look up or crack her neck. The wood dug into her cheek and throat, but no pain could replace the feeling of cold metal at her chest.

Gin patted her hands where they rested, bound to the smooth wood of the musket. He grinned smugly down at his captive, then grabbed her chin roughly in one hand and kissed her violently, violating her in spite of (and indeed grinning at) her muffled protests. The other soldiers pretended not to see. Rukia tried to wrench herself away more strongly than before, but Gin pulled his mouth from hers to stop her. "Careful now," he cautioned insincerely. "You might just end up shooting yourself on accident." He leaned closer and chuckled when Rukia tried to pull away only to be restrained by the painfulness of her position. "Just remember to give a good warning," he murmured, for her ears alone, as he squeezed her hands before straightening and moving to stand by his captain.

Her heart raced, pounding through her head. She was trapped. Ichigo had no way of knowing what had befallen her. And he had sworn, in that somehow flippantly serious way of his, that he would come to her, even if Hell itself were to block his way. There was Hell enough around her to stop him cold. He was coming, and she wouldn't be able to prevent him from being killed. She couldn't tell him, couldn't save him, couldn't—

_Warn him_.

Mouth suddenly dry, Rukia pondered over the patently insane idea that had popped into her head. Would it work? If he was dead for her sake, if she faced years of existence without him, one way or another, life was not an ally she wished to have.

Ichigo would kill her if she succeeded.

But they were both marked for death anyway.

Silently praying, she slid her hands as far down as she could, fingers reaching slowly, agonizingly down the gun, working the ropes further and further toward the butt. With the way that she was tied up, the going was torture. But she had to do it if she wanted to save Ichigo. Steeling herself against the pain, she gritted her teeth and reached down. Luckily for her, the four soldiers didn't seem to pay her any attention, standing at the ready as they were, waiting for when their "Fire-Crowned Robber" appeared in their range. It made one less thing for her to worry about.

There were several things that could go wrong with her plan. She could slip. She could twist her arms out of her sockets (which was becoming more and more likely as time passed and her grip went lower). The musket might not even be….

Still, she had to try, or else she would never be able to look Ichigo in the face in the afterlife.

Her fingers crept painfully out, searching for that little metal piece that would put her plan in action. Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two. Still she struggled on. Still, the Red Coats stood as statues, watching the road (though occasionally Rukia thought she saw Gin glance at her).

By the time the moon rose in the cloudy sky, Rukia couldn't tell whether the liquid running down her hands was sweat or blood. Every time she felt like stopping, like giving up, she would close her eyes and think of Ichigo, bringing his semi-permanently scowling face to her mind, imagining his rare, wry smile, and remember what she was trying to rescue. Then she would renew her efforts, straining mightily to touch—

_There_.

Right as she heard the clock chime downstairs, she felt it with her pinky. The clock sounded once, twice, and all the way up to twelve. So many, many agonizing hours she had spent. But she had accomplished it.

She tightened her hands around the musket, pushing her fingers carefully closer. The trigger felt smooth and cold against her pinky.

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IMBSA: Yes, yes, a short chapter this time, especially in view of the last one. Now, don't groan at me like that. I know I'm dragging out the suspense. I just like having something to do when I get bored. As far as replies go, I can't do so in the chapter, nor can I reply by the little shiny button on the webpage. So, sorry. I love chatting with my fans. :is giving herself airs again:


	4. Not a Real Chapter

The Highwayman: A Message from IMBSA, the author.

A petite, dark-haired, fair-skinned girl sits on a stool in the library of the high school she attends. Her brown eyes are hooded from a lack of sleep (or perhaps too much of it) and she doesn't look too happy. She wears blue jeans and a black jacket zipped up all the way so the audience is unable to see the shirt beneath (though the sleeves are pushed up to the elbow to reveal an "I (heart) anime" wristband and silver bangles on her wrists). Her black-booted feet are perched on the rung of the stool, pushing her knees up to her waist level. This is real life IMBSA, here to give you a public service announcement.

"So sorry to cruelly trick you into thinking I actually updated," she apologizes in a bored tone, flicking a lock of black hair out of her face. "But I'm afraid updating is going to be quite impossible until summer comes." She holds up her hands to stem the tide of (hopefully?) despaired groaning. "Tomorrow is my AP European History test, and I, being the lazy, creative slacker that I am, haven't exactly studied for it. So now I have 500 some odd pages to read and memorize before, oh, um, _noon_ tomorrow. AND!" She sits up straighter at this, eyes flashing with anger at the indignities being thrust upon her. "I have a _Chemistry_ test Monday, then finals _all next week_. The next few weeks of my life are shot to hell in Kukaku Shiba's cannon and may or may not survive the trip to Sereitei. Therefore, I will not be able to update The Highwayman for a while, at least until May 25. So very, very sorry, guys." She shrugs. "Mayhap you'll find a little distraction to amuse yourself with in the interim. But, please come back. I get so very lonely sometimes…." She's obviously rambling on, trying to make the PSA worth her time typing up when she could be learning just how badly Robespierre needs to learn how to commit suicide and why Hitler was such an asshat. "On a lighter note, I'd like to thank all of you for continuing to read my fic and all of the supportive comments I've been receiving. I'm actually quite nervous about these next few chapters, since I 1) don't know how the physics of the situation would work, 2) am badly paranoid that I'm getting someone out of character, and 3) don't think I handled the tension well enough to post it. I'm basically working with no beta reader here. Actually, I have one, but all she does is squeal and poke me until I make more of it rather than give me pointers about how to make it better. And no one else in my circle of literate friends is well versed enough in the series to even give a flying flip about what I'm writing. So your comments are very much appreciated. You guys have no idea how truthful I'm being when I say that your reviews help me get through the day without breaking into hysterics and killing somebody. I am so very sorry not to have a chapter for you guys today or in the next few weeks. Thanks for understanding."

She stands to leave, but a familiar looking orange-haired, well-endowed girl dressed entirely in pink comes bounding over to whisper in the authoress' ear, blue star hair pins glinting in the light. IMBSA sighs tiredly, which is something she really is, all the time. "Do I really have to?" She asks, plaintive note in her otherwise blandly high voice. The other girl, Orihime, of course, nods vigorously. "They'll think I'm being a retard, Inoue. Look, I'm going now." She attempts to walk past the (slightly) taller girl, only to be grabbed and hugged to her side.

"What IMBSA doesn't want to admit is that tomorrow is her birthday!" Orihime chirps, smiling happily as she veritably crushes the smaller girl to herself. "She's going to be an old woman tomorrow, so be sure to congratulate her!"

"Yeah, and I have to take an AP test tomorrow, (_so_ not fair) so it's not that big of a deal!" IMBSA gasps out, struggling to escape the energetic girl. "And 16 is not that old! Look at the Shinigami; Rukia's practically robbing the cradle with Ichigo!"

"Oooh, our IMBSA-chan's gonna be driving soon!" Chizuru suddenly enters the frame, poking at the authoress' face. "People on the streets are gonna have to watch out for you!" She sighs dramatically and sweeps IMBSA from Orihime's hold. "Still I suppose you're adorable enough to get away with sideswiping old ladies, so it's ok! Just like Hime!" She hugs the two of them.

"THAT'S IT!" IMBSA screams and squirrels her way out of the two. "I already told them what I needed to! I need to go study, so leave me alone!" She stomps out of the room, slamming the door, much to the chagrin of the librarians. A few seconds later and the door opens once again so IMBSA can stick her head back in. "Go back to your fandom and stop pestering me!" She withdraws and the door slams loudly a second time.

Don't you just hate it when your characters run away with the story?

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IMBSA: Yes, yes, everything in that little crack piece is true. I have an AP test tomorrow. It's my birthday tomorrow (also). I won't be updating for a good two weeks. I got smothered in Inoue's boobs. Express your sorrow and/or ecstasy in private, non-harmful ways. See you in a few weeks, guys.


	5. Chapter 4: The Warning

The Highwayman

Chapter 4: The Warning

IMBSA: Apologies for the long wait, but my grades were lower than we had expected and I , uh, got a little in trouble. But as my mother and I are getting back into the swing of things, she's allowing me to update my stories. ALL of them. So y'all waiting for updates on my other ones, take heart that we ARE writing on them and we WILL update them.

Back in the Bleach realm….So, this is the chapter you guys have probably all been waiting for. I'll not say much more, but if you don't hate Ichimaru by the end of this, you are _heartless_. Heartless I say:ahem:

Disclaimer: "I stopped breathing, so you wouldn't have to."

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Rukia knelt, tied in place, barely daring to breathe as she readjusted her grip on the trigger, careful not to push too hard on it. Reaching further was something the muscles of her arms protested, but she ignored the agony, gritting her teeth, and letting nary a cry cross her lips. When her fingers were in such a place that the slightest squeeze would put her plan in action, she stopped moving, heart pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest. She inhaled deeply and exhaled in a sigh. Rukia wasted no time on wondering whether or not she was strong enough to finish the job she had set herself on. She knew she was. She had to be. So she silenced the fear welling up inside her and settled herself to listening. Sometimes she closed her eyes, thinking that it might sharpen her hearing. Other times, her dark eyes would dart around, surveying the road glowing in the moon's silver light, seeking a lone rider, with a fire orange mane, astride a horse that was completely black from nose to tail.

When she first heard the faint hoof beats, she thought it was merely her heart resounding in her head. But slowly, it grew louder until she lifted her eyes, staring for the man she knew was riding to his doom. She straightened, pushing herself against the bedpost to keep herself upright, breathing growing fast and shallow. The beats rang even louder, but still, the soldiers did not move. They hadn't since sunset, even though the two kneeling at the window had been at the ready for any sign of the robber the entire evening.

Frantic thoughts began bombarding her head as they waited, tense and ready. Voices, sounding of Renji, Byakuya—even Ichigo—echoed in her mind, begging her not to do this, not to throw herself away for a worthless no account who'd only gotten her in more and more trouble. The fears she had so determinedly beaten down burst free, bubbling up fast and rushing, threatening to weaken her resolve. Everything she had hoped for, dreaded, dreamed, paraded before her inward eyes, almost causing her to let her hand slip listlessly from the musket.

But then the rider crested the hill, shock of orange shining like a sun on his head, under the moon. Time seemed to slow, and it appeared to her grasping, desperate mind that her heart was beating in the rhythm of the horse's hooves. All the noises in her head faded until it was only her pulse and the louder sounds of galloping echoing in the night. She knew what she had to do.

She inhaled deeply, and the sounds came rushing back, dissenting voices muted and quiet in the face of her icy cold resolve. Rukia gripped the musket tightly in her hands and sent silent prayers into the night.

_Renji, Byakuya, I'm sorry….I had to…._

_Goodbye._

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Gin glance casually at her before turning back to watch Ichigo's approach.

_Ichigo….I love you…._

Her fingers tightened, then squeezed the trigger.

The shot spooked everyone in the room even before they heard the wet splatter against the walls. The two soldiers at the window shot at their target prematurely, before the highwayman had even come into range. The rest of the squad, below on the ground took that as a signal and started shooting too, wasting their shots as Ichigo wheeled his horse around, the pair thundering back to the West, away from the Red Coats. Thanks to the girls warning, he had known something was wrong at the inn and had not been caught.

The captain's face hadn't shown much emotion, though his eyes had closed at the shot, and he watched impassively as the Fire Crowned Robber galloped away. So close…He had been so very close, almost within their grasp…. He heard the six soldiers downstairs shout and run to the stable to get their horses and start pursuing, as per orders. The other two leapt up and followed, leaving Gin and his captain alone with the body. The captain turned to face his lieutenant. Gin had known him long enough to see the fury in his brown eyes, so changed from the amused menace he had regarded Kuchiki with. "I'm going to pretend you had a plan for this…complication." His soft, pleasant voice was frigid and warned of the pain he longed to inflict upon his lieutenant.

Gin's ever-present smile widened and he inclined his head. "Captain Aizen, I would never have given the girl my musket had I thought she would kill herself. Usually the Kuchikis are a very cool-headed bunch." Aizen had known Gin well enough as well, and saw the wry twist in his lips that told him that his lieutenant was lying. His gaze darkened considerably, facial expression growing ugly, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Gin continued, "However, I _do_ have a plan. This may actually rid us of two__problems."

Aizen's eyes narrowed. "Explain." He commanded.

"Easily, sir. With his precious sister dead, Kuchiki will refuse to have anything to do with the Sons of Liberty. I knew him long ago. He'll displace the blame on his friends for causing his absence. There's our original objective achieved." Aizen nodded slowly, face growing pensive. "And as for the robber….Spy Tousen reported that he and Miss Kuchiki planned to run away. He _also_ said that there was reasonable evidence that they were lovers. Knowing the Robber's choleric temperament, based on our previous encounters, he won't take too kindly to _her_ death." He settled backwards, self-satisfaction radiating from his posture. "Once he knows, he'll find us. And he won't spook and run this time. We'll catch him in an ambush."

"It makes sense," Aizen agreed slowly. "But how can we be sure that he will hear? It is not as though we know where he goes from here."

"Sir, have _faith_ in me." Gin answered. "I know the solution to this." He paused. "And he's coming up the stairs right now." They both turned at the sound of angry footsteps crashing into the room.

"What in Hell's name is—" The red-haired stable boy began angrily before sputtering to a stop at the sight of Rukia slumped over the musket, red blood running down the barrel, crimson spattering the wall behind her. His eyes almost bulged out of his head as he took in the ropes binding her to the pole and realized that the only reason she was upright was because she had been tied up. First, his face drained of blood. Then, that blood came rushing back as anger surged through him. "WHAT—YOU—DAMN TORIES! YOU KILLED HER!!!" He advanced on Aizen so quickly, he was within neck-grasping range in the blink of an eye. But the Red Coat was quicker. Renji stopped when he felt the barrel of a pistol jabbed into his gut.

"Let's get one thing straight," Aizen remarked softly, eyes glittering coldly in the scant lantern light. "If you would look at Miss Kuchiki's body, you would see that we barely laid a hand on her. Her _suicide_ was an unfortunate accident. Do _not_ come bursting in here with false accusations, _stable boy_. She died by no one else's hand but her own." He pushed Renji away, nose wrinkling at the stench of horses he smelt on him, and then wiped his soiled hand on the boy's shoulder. "My squad will be taking over this inn until such time as we prefer to leave it. Should you still be on the premises when the rest of my men return, you will be executed."

"But I—"

"_Boy_," Aizen broke in, "your employer has been found guilty of aiding and sheltering a wanted criminal, as based on her actions tonight. By all rights, I should shoot you where you stand because I am _sure_ she had help. In light of the unfortunate circumstances, I will restrain myself from doing so. Therefore, I am giving you a lenient amount of time to remove yourself from our grounds. I suggest you not test my kindness." He turned his back on Renji and paced to the window, signaling that he wanted to waste no more time on him.

"Oh, and stable boy," Gin spoke up, "we'll need you to bury _that_ before you go." He nodded at Rukia's motionless body. Her pale face, made whiter by death, glowed in the lantern light and if one disregarded the blood-stained torso, it seemed as though she were only sleeping. "She'll smell something _awful_ by the end of the day."

Renji's face contorted with rage, but Aizen, with his back still turned, remarked, "Tick, tock, traitor."

As Renji moved to untie his beloved sister figure, dark eyes bright with tears he would not shed, he heard Gin murmur to Aizen, "To think she threw her life away for a worthless robber, captain, I confess that I can't understand it." He paused and glanced at the tiny body gathered tenderly in Renji's arms before remarking to Aizen quietly, "Such a pity. She was very pretty."

Renji's lips pursed and his gaze hardened. He knew what he was going to do when he had finished burying Rukia. He was going to find Kurosaki…and kill him.

He never noticed Gin's satisfied smirk as the soldier watched the stable boy down the stairs.

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IMBSA: I know some of y'all begged me not to do it, but…it makes the story so deliciously tragic, wouldn't you say? Thank you so much for your happy birthday wishes and support on my AP. It helped me get through the day. Thank you so very much. I appreciate so very much how on my side you guys were. You all deserve hugs! But I'll leave you to your tears. This chapter was a bit…sad. Sorry if I got people out of character, if the tension, suspense, and emotion weren't good enough….And I'll stop self-effacing now….

Oh, guys, I'm debating on starting a new fic, similar to this one, to Nightwish's "Over the Hills and Far Away." Would you like to read a story like that from me, or should I just scrap the idea? Check the song out, reply in your review if you want. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 5: Payment

The Highwayman

Chapter 5: Payment

IMBSA: Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. We're in freaking Slovakia and our flat doesn't have Internet connection, woe! But it's pretty sweet and I'm not complaining, so I'm updating when I can. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

IMBSA: Once again, I took some liberties with this chapter and if you don't like the way I wrote Gin, TOO BAD. My twisted sense of justice was begging to be let out and I had to heed the call. Any complaints about OOC-Gin will be ignored or explained away, if you really want a 10 page e-mail from me. Just remember that different incarnations of the same people in different times will behave differently. On that note, enjoy. Oh, and beware the filthy language of Renji and Ichigo. I need to go wash their mouths out with soap, excuse me.

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They had known that no plan was without its failings; even ones organized by those with greater minds than their own had been saddeningly unsuccessful. Consequently, in the plot for Ichigo and Rukia to elope, many ideas had been thought of and prepared for, should any possible disasters occur. Being unable to take Rukia from the Inn was one. Being unable to take Rukia from the Inn because he was being shot at wasn't. Still, Ichigo went to the appointed spot, thinking that Renji would be waiting with his lady love. He was soon disappointed. But, he felt, surely Renji would come soon, and Rukia with him. Perhaps the same extenuating circumstances that had driven him away from the Inn had also delayed the pair. And he trusted Renji to deliver Rukia safely. So, he waited.

Anyone who had known Ichigo Kurosaki for any amount of time also knew how out of character that was for him. He waited restlessly for hours, sometimes pacing, sometimes sitting, sometimes looking after Zangetsu to remove his mind from the situation. Finally, he resorted to talking to his horse, as the conflict within raged, trying to make up his mind on what he should do. Should he return, to see if Rukia was all right? Should he stay, on the off chance that Renji and Rukia entered the little clearing the moment he left it? The indecision tore at his mind and he couldn't stand it. He was not used to being either confused or patient. It was hard to be both at the same time.

Eventually, the sky lightened discernibly to say that the sun would soon arrive, and that the night would soon fall, descending to death, only to be reborn a few short hours later. And Renji and Rukia still had not come. Ichigo was a tad bit more than half-mad with worry. "Where the hell could they be?" He growled as he paced, having decided that waiting was very much overrated. His horse snuffled lightly at him, almost with rebuke in his sigh. "Don't you take that tone with me, you hairy old geezer ass—"

He was cut off when his sensitive hearing caught the sound of heavy footsteps moving towards him. The people—or, rather, person, as was the reality—were quick, but blundering, and seemed to have no sense of stealth—or perhaps cared little about others hearing. They were quicker than he thought. Within moments, the sinewy stable boy from the Kuchiki Inn had entered the clearing, face contorted with murderous rage. Before Ichigo could move, speak, or breathe, Renji had cold-cocked him in the jaw.

"YOU BASTARD!" He screamed, trying to follow up on the blow with another punch, which Ichigo easily evaded. The orange-haired man wiped at his mouth and kicked out, catching Renji in the chest and knocking him back. Though Renji was strong, stronger perhaps than his opponent, Ichigo knew how to win a fight. He also wasn't on a rampage, though if Renji hit him again, he would be. Deciding to end the conflict the quickest way he knew, Ichigo pulled the pistol holstered at his right hip and cocked it, so that when Renji looked up, he was staring down the barrel of a gun and up at the hard, angry gaze of the Highwayman.

"What in _fuck's_ sake did you do that for?" Ichigo hissed. "Where's Rukia?"

"In a hole!" Renji spat back. Ichigo's eyes widened. "Six feet under for your ungrateful little ass! She's _dead_ now, and it's _all your fault_!!!" Ignoring the pistol, Renji lunged for the stunned man, knocking his hand away and tackling him to the ground. There they rolled, punching, elbowing, anything to get the upper hand over the other. They fought like schoolyard boys, heedless of anything but the opposition. Finally, Ichigo found himself on top and took the advantage by mercilessly pounding Renji's head, holding his hands down so the stable boy was unable to defend himself. Once the red haired man's attempts to shield his face had become satisfactorily feeble, Ichigo pushed away to roll in the ground beside Renji, exhausted by the fight with the older man. Renji groaned and tried to move, but could do nothing more than wiggle slightly back and forth, as he was stunned by Ichigo's fierce blows.

After a few moments, Ichigo sat up, determined to get to the bottom of the case of his missing fiancée. "Why'd you—" He stuttered to a stop, the answer sinking in from the earlier time he had asked. "She—" He stumbled for words. "But…you—"

"They came!" The stable boy cried out, knowing that if Ichigo continued to deny it, he would be unable keep his hard-won pseudo-composure. "The Tories came and tried—she—she's _dead_…." Any words dissolved into pants and gasps as Renji tried to collect himself and let the pain of…being beaten senseless subside.

A numbness settled upon Ichigo's heart and he stared down at the writhing boy, brown eyes dark and unreadable. "Dead?" Ichigo repeated quietly, shock stilling him for one perfect second. Through his fighting for breath, Renji nodded, blinking away suspicious moisture from his eyes. The orange haired man began shaking his head, backing away from his rival. "You're wrong," he insisted, head swiveling as he looked for his love, as if she were playing a joke on him and had merely hidden behind a tree. A poor jest, if it was one. "Rukia…you brought her here….You got her out before they came…." Renji frantically shook his head.

"I _told _you, Kurosaki!"

"Shut up!!" Ichigo screamed, taking off into the trees. "Rukia!" He called out, searching for her in the slowly lightening forest, dodging around, voice growing louder and movements more desperate as no answering call in his love's voice came. "Rukia! RUKIA!!" He stopped, breathing shallow and fast as fear and anguish twined to lift his heart to his throat. He couldn't believe Renji's words, but….With an incoherent scream of fury, Ichigo was running to Zangetsu, almost leaping into the saddle and urged him on, leaving Renji in the dirt of the clearing.

He had to go. He had to make sure, he had to _know_ that he would never see her smile, he would never see her purple-black eyes glimmer impishly, never kiss her or hold her ever again. He sped down the road, raising a storm of dust behind him, riding as if the armies of Hell were at his back. Like a prince of the damned, his attire flickered blood red in the coming dawn, and he looked like an avenging demon, or a blood-thirsty angel. But whether he led the hordes of Tartarus or was being pursued by them, he couldn't tell.

The distance between his hiding place and the Inn wasn't very far by the pace of a galloping horse, and before the sun had fully risen, he had spotted the very tip top of the roof, jutting above the swell of a hill. He kicked Zangetsu to urge him on, even at the high speed they were already at; the viciousness of his action was lost in his worry for Rukia. He was only concentrating on need to find her, and to save her if possible. And if Renji told the truth?

He would get revenge on the bastards who had taken his life from him.

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Apparently, Aizen had been more upset by Gin's little ploy than he had put forth. After a few hours of waiting, he had sent his silver-haired lieutenant out to scout the area, and bring reports—if he had any—of the Fire-Crowned Robber's whereabouts. He had made it clear that he expected—nay, _demanded_—an update. Gin scowled as he brought one hand gingerly up to his bruised cheek. The captain had made it very clear indeed. What, did he think Ichimaru an idiot? If not for his deceit, they would have had to go back with nothing to show for all his weaselly hard work.

This little fit of the squad captain's explained why Gin was on the road winding westward, riding at a leisurely pace. He would be _damned_ if he exerted more effort than he had to. He had all confidence that his plan would work, and if Aizen didn't see his wisdom, well, too bad! When the highwayman came riding up and they took him down for good, Aizen would thank him on bended knee for saving his commission and his career. Or, at least, that's what Gin hoped.

Ichimaru didn't want to be riding in the chilly dawn, and he figured that he would just stop the horse somewhere down the road and rest for a few hours before heading back with his own reports of clear roads despite his riding, long and hard, through the country-side. He would ride just a bit further and find a nice little place to—What was that?

Gin's head jerked up at the sound of thunderous hooves pounding in his direction. He stopped his horse, curious as to what could put a rider in such a hurry. He squinted down the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of who it was galloping so quickly and angrily towards—

"God above," Gin swore as he saw the orange hair beneath the tri-corner hat on the head of the rider astride the midnight black horse. He could almost _feel_ the scathing-hot coals that were the robber's eyes. He knew the man's dangerous temper, as it had been documented in great detail, and he had no overwhelming urge to experience it firsthand. As he had commented to his captain, his choleric disposition was enough to bet on, and right now, Gin would be putting away his inheritance that the encounter would result in a nasty, painful death, should he be caught. Gin wheeled his own horse around, cursing it to its grave when it whinnied at his rough movement, no doubt calling the highwayman's attention to the red-clad soldier. He bent closer to the horse's neck and kicked frantically at its sides, spurs digging deep and painfully. Gin didn't care how much blood he drew from his steed; he wanted to escape from the righteous justice he knew would descend from behind him. "Go faster, gofastergofaster, _faster_ dammit!" He chanted in his horse's ear, self-preservation crying out loudly in the back of his mind, as only a coward's sense could.

He risked a glance backwards and—his heart jumped in his throat to see that the robber had drawn his sword, intense brown eyes focused only on the fleeing Red Coat. Revenge burned in those cinnamon orbs and it seemed like he was clothed in the fires of Hell, flames licking his torso and his spurs and his blade. Every molecule in his body was intent on Gin's suffering, and his quarry felt it. "Dammitdammitdammit!" Gin breathlessly turned back, shaken by the damned vision that had gotten closer as his own steed had seemed to slow. "_Move_, you sluggard!" He screamed, kicking furiously at his horse. He glanced up and, close enough to see the silhouette of his captain in the upstairs window, immediately sat up, releasing the reins to gesture wildly at the pursuing man. "Robber!" He shrieked, fear lending his voice its high pitch. "Robber! Shoot 'im! _Shoot _him!"

He only had time to register the sneer twisting Aizen's mouth before a barrage of lead knocked him from his horse, a few stray bullets striking the poor creature as well. Gin lay gasping in the dirt, staring at his blood-slicked hands in disbelief that his life was ending in a bout of "friendly" fire. "But I—" He wheezed. He was given no reprieve as the black horse finished what the bullets had started. Perhaps at the direction of the rider, perhaps not, the horse trampled the Lieutenant into the dust.

Silver hair marked where the unburied corpse fell.

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Zangetsu leapt over his slain kin, sparing the horse as he had not spared the master. Both Ichigo and his steed knew that continuing on was suicide. They would go down in a flurry of bullets, following that Red Coat he had chased to ignoble death in the filth of the ground. But turning tail and fleeing was not an option. They had killed his Rukia, he was _sure_ of it, and the knowledge brought a strange, stoic calm to his anger, as if his heart couldn't take more and had shut all but its basic functions down. Rukia was dead. If he were to die, he would welcome it, since he was now all alone in the world. Rukia was waiting for him, and she had already been held up for too long from ignorance on his part. Zangetsu followed his rider loyally as he raised an eerie shriek to the skies, a curse to all the Red Coats profaning _her_ Inn, and rode into the embrace of his Death, visions of his betrothed in his eyes.

_Her smile when he asked her to run away with him._

The remaining troops who had not been ordered to shoot Gin readied themselves.

_That look she gave him when she thought he was being an idiot, scornful, but loving._

At a command, they fired.

_The way her eyes had fluttered shut the first time they had kissed_.

The Fire-Crowned Robber's brown eyes shut one final time.

_How tenderly she held him._

The Red Coat's mission had been accomplished.

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IMBSA: I know. You're depressed again. Don't worry; the next (and last) chapter should be less depressing. Who knows, my twisted sense of justice might make another appearance. Any complaints about Gin's cowardice/death will be stashed in Ukitake's next gift to Shiro-chan and the owners may be visited by a child masquerading as Jack Frost. Other than that, please R & R!


	7. Chapter 7: Epilogue

The Highwayman

Chapter 6: Epilogue

IMBSA: And now, the final chapter of this little angst fest. YAY! It's sad when I have to wait for school to start in order to post this. :sweat:

Disclaimer: "You don't/You don't/You don't see me at all"

IMBSA: Once again, I took liberties. Once again, my twisted sense of justice cried out. And Byakuya threatened to have me die a girly, humiliating death involving cherry blossoms if I didn't let him have his revenge.

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It was midnight at the Kuchiki Inn and there was a crisis.

The multistory building was going up in flames and screams from within gave testament to the people still trapped inside. Two figures stood well away from the building, yet made no move to help the soldiers who were burning for earthly crimes, only to be sentenced to another kind of fire. One of the pair, a red haired man, held the reins of almost ten horses, rescued from the stable when its tender had returned to investigate the smoke rising from his former place of work. The other, a tall, aristocratic-looking, dark haired man with a horse of his own, watched stoically as his childhood home and business was devoured by the greedy fury that had already glutted itself upon the flesh inside. They stood by two graves, both sepulchers under the watchful gaze of a weeping willow that had stood on the Kuchiki property since the day they had owned it.

Gin had been correct when he estimated the highwayman's rage. He had just underestimated the elder Kuchiki's correct assessment of blame.

As the cries—and their owners—died, Kuchiki Byakuya spoke, still staring at the fiery wreckage of his past. "Don't look at me so suspiciously, Renji. It was probably just a stray spark from the fireplace." He paused as Renji quickly shifted his glance to the moon, trying to hide the fact that he suspected Byakuya's hand in the destruction of the Inn—and the Red Coats inside. "Yes, a spark from the hearth was all it was," he concluded with a short nod of his head. He turned away from the burning establishment and mounted his horse easily, going back the way he had arrived earlier in the evening. "Are you capable of leading those horses all the way to the city?" Byakuya asked, more out of concern for all of the horses returning with them than for the stable boy.

"O-of course, sir." He agreed, having tied them in groups to be easier to manage. He didn't actually know if he had the muscle to take all of them the half a day's ride into the city, but he had expectations from his employer to keep up to.

"Hm. That means you cannot." He began riding slowly away. "If any try to break free, cut them loose. The market has no use for wild horses." With one last look back, Renji mounted his horse.

Behind him, the night wind blew embers into the sky, tossing the branches of the tree in its light embrace above the graves.

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Some months later saw Renji in the yard of a newly rebuilt Inn. There were still little problems with the stables, such as a door not closing just right or the horses in general being skittish. That night was the worst since they had taken pains to restore the bustling station on a road to the city to its former glory. None of the horses seemed to like the new accommodations and played merry hell with Renji, constantly whinnying loudly, as if at some perceived threat, and causing him to run in, armed with a sorry cudgel of wood left behind by some scatterbrained carpenter. As he went around to all of the horses, soothingly rubbing their noses and offering tidbits of leftover vegetables or fruits from some of the dinners, he got to the slightly opened door, which, when unbolted, would afford the view up the hill to the crest of the road and a weeping willow hunching like a mourning widow above two unmarked graves. Time had seemed to push the mounds together, so that dirt from one covered the other and vice versa. They looked like one large sepulcher of dirt, as if the occupants were never to be disturbed or parted by anything ever again.

Entranced by the wind tossing the light boughs of the tree like whips through the air, Renji slowly left the horses, like one who walks in slumber, unbolting the door and slowly trudging to stand a few feet from the tombs. The content isolation that wrapped around the tree had made it an eerie and lonely spot to spend one's time. Every time he passed it, he felt like he was intruding on some private room, witnessing an event that was better kept between the two it occurred with, something so pure it had no right to exist on the earth in its present state. He rarely even looked at the tree, the pang that twisted his heart like a prayer, too sudden and too true to pass his lips into a sigh or from his eyes as a tear.

But now he stood, staring at the tree gilded silver in the moonlight as it tossed its radiant head toward the sky. Despite the wind and the would-be violent movements of its branches, it was a peaceful spot, where everything felt muted and cooled. Renji could feel a heaviness draw upon his limbs and eyes, even as the cold New England wind blew the bangs from his face with a breath unseasonably chilled. Renji blinked suddenly, staring at the tree, at the sound of a horse's whinny and hoofs clip-clopping down the road.

"A guest?" Renji asked himself. "At this hour? They must be insane to be riding out this late!" He stared down the way west, to see if the visitor would be coming from that way. When no rider appeared, he turned to the other path, squinting to see the new caller on the Kuchiki Inn. No one that way either. Renji would have sworn on his right hand that _some_one had been riding over the gypsy's ribbon toward the large establishment.

Feeling altogether spooked, he turned around the corner of the stable, to continue back to his small rooms when he heard the hoofs again, this time not two feet from the very spot at which he stood. He pushed himself against the wall, not at all anxious to get himself trampled beneath some fool rider. Nothing appeared, even though the sound continued past him loudly, disembodied noise grating against the cobbles. Renji swallowed slightly as he followed the now faint sound under the awning and to the back of the Inn. On the second floor, a light suddenly flared up in the window and the stable boy almost jumped three feet, heart hammering in his throat.

The light was shining from Rukia's room.

As he watched, it seemed like all of the mists of the world were concentrated on the spot below her former window, sketching out the shape of a horse and rider. To Renji's dumb amazement, the windows seemed to creak open and the form of a young woman leaned out, smile visible even on her almost featureless face. Renji blinked and rubbed his eyes, not daring to believe the shades before him. It had to be a delusion, some trick of the mind or insane fancy of a dream. When he looked again, the two figures had become one as the woman clutched onto the back of the rider, sidesaddle on the horse. The contentment in her blissful expression wasn't marred as she looked back and straight at Renji, with a face he had known well from childhood.

The ghost smiled slightly at him and shook her head lightly, as if sensing the words of longing that had bubbled up upon his tongue. Then, with an audible laugh in feminine tones, the pair rode off, circling around to pass the astounded stable boy again before galloping away to the West.

"Wake up." The demand caused Renji to jerk back into consciousness, blinking and swearing as his eyes danced around to see who had roused him from his deep sleep. Seeing Byakuya wrapped in the blanket the new housekeeper had brought with her, Renji scrambled up, still unable to shake the dream from his mind. With a jolt he saw that he had been leaning against the willow tree trunk. Thankfully, the wind had died down. "Know you not that it is rude to rest against the dead's rooms?" Byakuya admonished, dark eyes so much like his sister's full of something less than scorn.

"I'm sorry, sir." Renji apologized, rubbing out a crick in his neck. "It won't happen again."

Byakuya stared at him for a moment, regarding him with expressionless, measuring eyes in a heartbeat that stretched through eternities. "No...It probably won't." He agreed in a murmur. Then, so quietly, the words were like the graze of a cobweb against his ear, Byakuya continued, "They would not return, now that they have their freedom."

Without an explanation, the tall aristocratic looking man turned and silently stalked back toward the house.

Renji, about to speak to his retreating back, was interrupted by the sound of a sharp clack. Both men stopped and looked up at the window of a second story room slapping against the wall, a plaything for the wind.

The tiniest of smiles graced the sole Kuchiki's face and he bowed his head to the departing sprite upon the wind.

"No, I don't suppose they would." Renji granted quietly, knowing Byakuya would feign ignorance. With one last look at the waving window, he returned to his horses, gently soothing them back to peace.

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IMBSA: Well, I hope you liked it. I apologize in advance for the delay, and if the last chapter wasn't up to par, once again, I'm sorry. See, it's not that depressing! And they didn't meet in Soul Society, so ha! I know bad taste when I see it. I think.


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